


mourning sun

by scrhaiser



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, Monthly Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3455237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrhaiser/pseuds/scrhaiser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Is Peggy there?” she asks, even though this is a semi-emergency phone number she’s not supposed to have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	mourning sun

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: color.

“You’ll be home by four, right?” Angie says into the phone tucked under her chin. She glances into the main kitchen, where a large pot sits calmly on the stove. “I’m making stew.” It’s the one thing she knows how to make without setting the house on fire.

Peggy laughs, her voice crackling with static. “Four thirty,” she says.

“That’s good,” Angie says, smiling so hard the muscles in her cheek feel sore, smiling so hard it feels like a vital organ might burst like a balloon and she’ll be set free into the sky. “I’ll see you then.” She hears a loud explosion behind her (is it a bomb has her time come it was worth it) and whirls around to find her stew has decided to make its home on the ceiling.

“Angie?” she hears Peggy say, concerned.

She breathes out and leans against the ostentatious wallpaper. They’re going to have to pull out the ladder again in order to get the beef off the ceiling. “English,” she says, “how do you feel about hot dogs?”

Peggy laughs, and it’s enough to make Angie breathless.

 

* * *

 

 

At four forty-five, Peggy still isn’t home. Angie flips through her magazine and taps her feet against the floor, unable to concentrate. The second hand on the ancient grandfather clock marches resolutely in circles until she can’t take it anymore and digs out the number Peggy said was for “semi-emergencies” (she’s memorized it but it doesn’t hurt to check).

The phone rings three times before being picked up. “Hello?” not-Peggy asks.

“Is Peggy there?” she asks, even though this is a semi-emergency phone number she’s not supposed to have.

“Who is this?” he demands and she recognizes his voice (she never forgets a voice). “How did you get this number?”

“I’m her roommate,” she responds, which is still technically true. “And she’s not home yet.”

"She left half an hour ago," he says, perplexed. "Is something wrong?"

Angie laughs a little, but her heart drops through her stomach and to her feet. "Nothing," she says, "it must be the New York traffic. Thank you-”

“Wait,” he says, the man she didn’t cry all over, the other one. “Are you sure everything’s all right?”

“Peggy is always punctual,” she says.

David - is that his name? pauses. “That she is.”

Angie thinks viciously, she has to be. (It's your fault it's all of your fault) "I'll tell you what-" he says, and she can feel the patronization beginning (he might be actually trying he really might but she knows she knows she know he thinks she's nothing more than a scared little girl) "I'll check the building and make sure that she's left, didn't get held up somewhere or something. Call me back in five minutes."

"Thank you," she says because she's supposed to. He hangs up without another word.

While Angie waits, she checks the garage again - Peggy's isn't there. She checks through the curtains - Peggy isn't coming up the drive. She unlocks the front door and walks down to the street to look both ways - neither Peggy's car nor a taxi nor the woman herself is in sight. She returns to the living room, noting that the grandfather clock tells her it's only been four and a half minutes, but she calls the number anyway.

Daniel picks up immediately. "She left at four fifteen," he says, pinched and quickly and concerned. "Maura said she was in a hurry to get home. She doesn't live at the Griffith anymore, does she?"

"We have a house-" a fucking mansion with Renaissance art "-ten minutes away." It's far from Broadway but the gated community means that it's a quick commute for Peggy. "She should have been home twenty minutes ago."

"It could be traffic," Daniel says, sounding like he's lying to himself.

"It's Friday afternoon."

“Give me the your phone number,” he says to her like he no longer believes she’s something small and weak, “I’m going to start looking.”

Angie gives it to him and hangs up. It is now four fifty-three; Peggy is twenty-three minutes late. The small rhubarb pie Angie bought for them to share sits on the counter, box unopened.

 

* * *

 

At four fifty-nine, the doorbell rings.

  
Angie rushes to the front of the house.

  
Red blood covers the left side of Peggy’s face, slick and wet and dripping down onto her shoulder. She limps, dragging her left foot behind the other; her hair is pushed is pushed into a messy nest; she carries her black gun in one sure hand.

Angie should be worried; she should cry, she should rush out and hug her and tend her wounds and mend the broken places but instead she stands frozen in the door frame just as Peggy stands frozen half-in-half-out of the front door because all she can feel is relief, relief relief. She should be terrified; she should see the blood and the gun and she should run but here. Here she stands. They stare at each other; they do not move.

“You’re late,” she says and the moment is broken.

Peggy tries a smile and steps forward. “There was traffic,” she says. “I tried my best.” She steps forward and winces. “Ah.” She swallows. “Could you help me to my room?”

Angie is halfway to her when she is blown off her feet. The last thing she sees, lying on the ground, is yellow and orange sparks slowly climbing up the window curtain.

(the fuse has gone off just like she had known it would no one can live in peggy's line of work untouched)

 

* * *

 

When she wakes, everything is still.

She opens her eyes, expecting to smell toast. Instead she smells something like peroxide. The hospital room is spacious, there is light but no windows. In front of her, a long bump extends from her knee to her foot under the sheet. She lifts the sheet up to peer underneath it and is unsurprised to find a cast.

She tries to sit up, even manages to prop herself up on one elbow before the room swims and her head falls back to her pillow.

 

* * *

 

The second time she wakes, the light has shifted. Her eyelids are faintly orange. She opens them, figures out that that is a terrible idea, and closes them again. After squeezing her eyes again, she decides to try again.

The curtains have been opened and she can scattered parts of the New York skyline, a brilliant sun throwing long shadows into the room. She turns away from the window. On the other side of the bed sits an armchair she had not seen previously, and in that armchair sits a slumped woman with a sling around her arm.

“Peggy?” she asks, wincing at the way her voice scratches and tears at the air between them.

Peggy’s head snaps up like a whip, and she immediately sits up straight. “Angie,” she says, pressing her lips into a thin line, “I’m so, incredibly sorry about this. I had hoped my work-”

“Stop,” Angie says. “You’re hurting my ears.” (but she isn’t a voice as beautiful as Peggy’s could never grate)

Peggy’s mouth snaps shut.

“Are you okay,” she asks, reaching her hand towards her with great effort.

“I’m fine,” Peggy says, “but you’re-”

Angie cuts her off by taking her hand in hers and squeezing as hard as she can. “Then it’s all good, English. It’s all good.”

Peggy hesitates, then squeezes back.

“Tell me it’s all good.”

Peggy hesitates again. “Angie…”

Angie squeezes her hand again. “It’s all good. We’re okay.”

This time, Peggy’s face cracks into a small smile. “It’s all good.”

Angie settles back into the hospital bed with a smile and doesn't let go.

(it feels so right, peggy's hand in hers)

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus:  
> Thompson cracked the door to the hospital room. “Ah,” he said upon seeing their entwined fingers. “Just gals being pals.”


End file.
